Tomo was waiting for Kazuha to finish his club work. Kendo always ended early. He had his bag slung over his shoulder, his stick neatly bagged as well, taking up his left shoulder. He was holding an umbrella above his head, the sound of the rain almost deafening, yet somehow also calm.

He liked such days. But he liked just about any day he could go home with Kazuha. Which has been every day since when they've known one another.